She looks up at me, with a hint of a smile. “I’m looking forward to that.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maya
Jamie’s standing by the front door of Schwartz-Goldstein Hall, where the kiddush luncheon is taking place. He’s chatting with his mother, Sophie, and Rabbi Levinson.
The bat mitzvah ceremony just ended, and everyone’s pouring in for lunch. A huge table to the left is filled with bowls of fruit, platters of chicken salad, bagels, and lox.
I was nervous when my dad dropped me off this morning, but as soon as I stepped through the side doors of the temple, Jamie found me and got me a seat in the VIP section—right next to his grandmother. Watching the ceremony from the front row, seeing Sophie read from the Torah—the lights overhead glowing warm as Jamie and his mother looked on from where they stood on the bimah—joy permeated the room like a thing I could touch.
“Saved you a spot in line,” I tell Jamie when he walks over to me.
“Thanks,” he says. “Ugh, this tie.” He tugs and grimaces. “It’s so uncomfortable.”
“It looks nice,” I tell him.
“I’m just saying, accessories for your neck—this should not be a thing.”
It throws me off a little, seeing him so formal. The crisp white shirt, the red tie . . . He looks so handsome. Mr. Darcy–level handsome. I think of Nolan and flush. I will keep that thought to myself.
“The flyers.” I clear my throat. “I brought them with me.”
“Oh, that.” He looks at me. “My mom isn’t letting me hand them out. She said it would take attention away from Sophie’s big day, even though, you know, this is time sensitive, with actual liberties at stake. I’ll try to work on her for the reception later, though. She’s got to change her mind.”
“She’s got a point,” I tell him. “It’s like how you thought canvassing on Eid wasn’t the best idea. Some days are meant to celebrate.”
“But we can’t just not hand them out. Can you imagine the number of calls flooding in if we got this to each person here?”
“Who said anything about not handing them out?” I ask him. “We can’t give them to people directly, but maybe we could stick them in places where people can find them? If that’s okay to do at a temple . . .”
“Like by the drinks table.” He smiles slowly. “And the bathrooms have really wide counters, perfect for flyers. Maya, you’re a genius.”
“I’m not your political partner in crime for nothing, right?”
He hugs me. A jolt of electricity courses through me.
I look at him when we pull apart.
Did he feel it too?
Just then, we’re interrupted by two tweens.
“Jamie!” one of them exclaims. She’s wearing a floral sundress. “You look so cute.”
“Uh, thanks, Maddie,” Jamie says.
“Seriously. I almost didn’t recognize you,” the other one adds.
“Andrea’s right. You should change your aesthetic.” Maddie nods. “Suits all the way, all the time.”
“Too bad no one wears suits outside of formal events,” Andrea says.
“Set a trend, Jamie!” Maddie says. “If you just start wearing suits to school and to the mall, like it’s no thing, maybe it’ll catch on.”
“Okay, um. This is my friend Maya.” He nods to me quickly.
“Hi.” I smile at them.
They give me a once-over.
“So, Jamie.” Maddie turns back to him. “Did you see what Elsie was wearing? Red and yellow do not go together.”
“And the white tights? Tragic. You should tell her,” Andrea says. “That’s what a real friend does. Gives their honest opinion.”
“You’re right,” Maddie says. “I’d want to know.”
“But even if the outfit doesn’t work, she’s already wearing it,” I tell them. “Telling her will make her feel horrible, won’t it?”
“Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind,” Andrea says.
“That’s such a good point.” Maddie nods somberly.
They say goodbye and hurry away.
“Wow.” I glance at their retreating figures. “They just reminded me how royally middle school sucked.”
“I wouldn’t go back for any amount of money in the world,” Jamie agrees.
We make plates for ourselves with bagels and cream cheese and fruit. Maddie and Andrea are now talking to someone in a red dress with a yellow cardigan. She’s still smiling, so they haven’t broken the news to her yet. Poor Elsie.
“Want to put the flyers out now?” Jamie asks me when we’re done eating. “I’ll print more for the party this evening.”
We decide to divide and conquer. I put a handful on some round tables by a library, and Jamie charms the security folks into agreeing to let us put out flyers by the check-in counter. I set the last of the stack in the ladies’ bathroom, and meet him in the hallway around the corner from the kiddush luncheon. Music and conversation waft down the hallway toward us.
His back is to me when I approach—he’s taking a picture of a poster on the wall. Getting closer, I see it’s a photo of a rabbi—Jacob Rothschild—and a quote he said in 1948: We must do more than view with alarm the growing race hatred that threatens the South.
“He said that over half a century ago,” I say once I’m next to Jamie.
“Yeah . . .”
“I can’t believe it.” I shake my head. “There’s this part of me that thinks if we work and resist long enough, we’ll get to ‘happily ever after,’ but . . .”
“I know,” Jamie says. “Things change slowly. Way too slowly, to be honest. But what’s the alternative? Not like we can sit back and do nothing. We have to fight for change however we can.”
I study Jamie’s profile. I never thought about change as something to fight for—more like something I’m always fighting against. It’s always the one thing that throws me completely off-kilter. And this summer has been a tidal wave of changes, one after the other, until it’s felt like there’s nothing left standing. But glancing now at Jamie, I smile a little. He’s right. Sometimes, change can be good.
We wander out the side door of the temple. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here. I take in the view from the parking lot. Sometimes all the traffic and congestion can make me forget just how pretty Atlanta is. Skyscrapers and leafy trees line the horizon—the morning sun feels warm, beating against our bodies. I sit down on Alfie’s trunk. Jamie hops up next to me, our knees brushing together, and we sit in comfortable silence for a moment.
Jamie pulls out his phone after a little while and clicks a few buttons.
“Instagramming the poster?”
“Yeah.” He glances at me and smiles. “I finally joined the modern world.”
“The modern world welcomes you.”
“Thanks for being one of my two followers,” he says.
“Keep posting and you’ll get as many as me!”
“Fifteen?”
“Exactly. Goals.” I grin. “But seriously, I can’t believe you posted the goofy one of me after meeting Rossum.”